


Keep Your Head Up, Keep Your Love

by miomeinmio



Category: DCU, DCU (Movies), Man of Steel (2013), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miomeinmio/pseuds/miomeinmio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dru-Zod doesn't like the new physics teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a [prompt](http://manofsteelkink.livejournal.com/606.html?thread=20318#t20318) over at [Man of Steel Kinkmeme](http://manofsteelkink.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal.

Dru-Zod doesn’t like the new Physics teacher.

He tells as much to Faora the next time she’s on campus, glaring daggers at the kids in the corner who are talking instead of working on the project they’ve been assigned.

“The guy has a doctorate from MIT, he’s published papers and worked on top-secret government projects, I don’t understand why he’s teaching a _high school_ _physics course_ in bum-fuck nowhere,” he mutters. It’s his free period and instead of drawing up his lesson plan like he’s supposed to he’s hiding out in Lara Lor-Van’s art class, picking through her jellybeans with a surly expression. Faora is unhappily paying her substitute dues to fill up the time she’s not coaching cheer.

“I don’t see what you’re upset about. _You’re_ the one who’s constantly complaining about the caliber of teacher here. You should be happy they listened to you and finally hired someone- ROSS!” The pudgy teenager in question levitates out of his seat and whips around to stare in wide-eyed horror. Faora-Ul curls a lip.

“Were you unclear about the instructions? You will be working on your collage until Ms Lor-Van returns next week. I assume that’s what you’re verifying with Mr El?”

Kal-El swallows and leans away from Pete Ross, eyes focused so intently on his collage he’s burning a hole through it. Dru is vaguely impressed, as always, with the terror Faora can inspire, but he’s immediately distracted by the dark-haired boy in the corner.

“El?” he asks Faora, eyes a question. She gives him the side-eyes.

“Same El. Jor and Lara got together and popped out that brat straight out of school.” Faora taps her pen on her pyramid diagram. “Shit head,” she mutters, near silently.

Dru is suddenly absorbed in studying the kid. Kal had tried out for the freshman football squad and, as a coach, Dru had immediately seen the potential. Kal had been swift, and deceptively strong, and Dru had been considering starting him as a running back for their first game. He resolves, with a narrow eyed stare, to watch this child of El more closely at practice.

“I didn’t know Lara was married,” he finally says to Faora. She snorts.

“You don’t know shit that’s happened since you left. You’ve been working here a year, you think you’d be more up on the gossip.” She bats away the licorice jelly bean that Dru flicks at her and glares. “I’m serious. We both went into the service, there’s no excuse that I know more about what’s going on than you do.”

“You went into the shitty branch.”

“Restrictions on women in combat, asshole,” Faora snarks back. “Combat pilot was the only way – you  know what? I have no idea why I’m letting you bait me. Get out.”

Dru gives her the eyes, and she raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. It’s with a hearty sigh that Dru-Zod collects his clipboard and a handful of jellybeans and backs out the door.

“So cold,” he laments, getting an eye-roll in response.

 

 

 

Smallville High is an aggregator school. Every day busses arrive from surrounding towns full of sleepy-eyed students with too-early wakeup calls and children from the surrounding farms showing up on the backs of tractors and in beat-up old pickups. Despite that, the school has just under one thousand students. And despite _that_ , its sports teams are large and highly competitive.

Dru-Zod had applied for the position of football coach when he had returned to his hometown after a dishonorable discharge from the Navy. He had been fortunate to arrive when he had, with enough connections and the blessing of the outgoing Coach Papp to squeak into the position. And after a year there, and praise from parents and community members as he took the previously underperforming team to state, he had been bumped up to Athletic Director and Dean of Students when Jerry Siegel had retired, Dru being the only one qualified for the position.

Now he’s responsible for the entire athletic department, teaching the weight training classes, fielding angry calls from parents who want their children on the varsity team, and calling down truants and assigning them detention. All in addition to his job as the football coach. Faora laughs at him every time he shows up at her door and drops himself face-first into her couch.

“First you worry you’d never find a job, now you don’t even want one,” she’ll say, pressing a cold beer to the back of his neck until she’s swatted away.

“SEAL training was easier than this. At least then you could just shoot people.”

Faora just rolls her eyes and pops her feet up on top of whatever piece of workout equipment she had been using when he arrived, beer of her own in hand. “At least you get to work with boys mostly. I don’t know who taught these girls life skills, but every day it’s, ‘Alicia can’t come to practice because she’s really upset because Megan’s dating her ex and they’re supposed to be best friends.’ I swear to God. Five years of this shit does _not_ make it easier to deal with.”

Dru thinks bitterly about pointing out that Faora always has options, but in the end he never says it. She’s his only friend in the world and he would never knowingly disrespect her like that.

For now, he’ll get by on commiseration and alcohol on the odd nights he leaves his cold apartment in search of company.

 

 

 

It’s wrong of him, he knows, to take a special interest in Kal-El.

He tries not to, he really does. The cliché is that there’s no ‘I’ in team, but to a point it really is true. Dru knows if he picks any champions out of the group he’ll only serve to alienate the other players and destroy the unit. But besides the obvious fact that some players are inherently better than others, and Kal is definitely one of those players, he’s intrigued to see the child that Jor-El and Lara have raised.

It earns the boy his attention, and, depending on whom you ask, that’s never a good thing.

“El!” he barks, for what has to be the tenth time that day. “Eye on the prize, not your opponents!”

The boy sits up, agitated, from where he had been tackled to the ground. Dru runs a hand through his close cropped hair, which he knows is standing on end at this point, and yells for everyone to set back up. They’ve run close to twenty plays at this point, and if the boy doesn’t make it to the endzone soon Dru is going to have to revise his plan of starting him this Thursday.

Dru _hates_ changing his plans.

Thirty seconds later Dylan Strang has side-swiped Kal, and Dru knows, at least, that he’ll be starting a solid defense. “Spatial awareness, El! Where is everyone else on the field? Come on!”

Kal is on his feet and jerked around in an instant, his blazing little eyes fixed on Dru-Zod.

“Do I look at the goal or do I look at the players?” he snaps, frustrated. “Pick one!”

At that, the field goes so silent Dru can hear the sharp intake of breath from one of the kids closest to him. Kal himself seems to realize what has just happened, and a moment of fear flickers over his face. But he’s a defiant boy, and he masters his features and clenches his fists, every line of his body a challenge.

That will not do.

Dru knows he’s wearing what Faora semi-affectionately calls the ‘crazy eyes’ when he stalks across the field to loom over the boy, using every intimidation tactic that had cowed full grown men under his command. Kal, it seems, realizes what kind of hot water he’s in as he bows back to sidle out of Dru’s presence.

“Get off my field,” he growls. “Now.”

As the boy retreats, anger stringing his shoulders tight, Dru looks around at the players who are standing awkwardly around him. He narrows his eyes at all of them. “There a reason we’re not setting up to run that play again? Fairfield, get in here and take El’s place!” And as he barks orders the students scurry to comply.

He settles himself on the sidelines once again and savagely crosses Kal-El’s name off the starting roster.

 

 

 

The next day during his free period he’s on his back under his desk, arm thrown across his eyes and door firmly shut. The aspirin have done nothing to quell his throbbing stress headache, and he knows if he checks his messages there will be nothing but angry calls and emails to return, so he stays under his desk and just breathes into the silence.

The inevitable knock at his door ruins everything just a little bit more, and he chokes back the desire to growl, ‘Go. Away.’ He opts for silence, praying to the God he’s never really been on speaking terms with that whoever it is will disappear.

God, it seems, does not suffer part-time believers.

The door swings open and a vaguely familiar voice asks, “Dru?” When there’s no response whoever it is steps inside and steps around the desk, until Dru knows they’re standing right over him, staring at a full grown man hiding from the world under a piece of cheap furniture.

“Bad day?” the voice finally asks, and Dru moves his arm to glare.

Jor-El is smiling down at him, semi-amused, and Dru thinks that he really needs to start cultivating favor with _some_ deity because this is exactly last on the list of what he can deal with right now. He opts for the offensive.

“You make a habit of barging into people’s offices when they’re not there?” Jor gives him a little smirk at that.

“You _are_ here,” he points out, and Dru narrows his eyes at them because that is _so not the point_. Jor-El is as undeterred as he ever was when it came to Dru and crouches down next to him, one arm on the desk above their heads.

“You haven’t come to say hi, so I figured it was up to me.”

Dru sighs. He’s not a _complete_ bastard, despite what some may think, but he’s also in a pretty foul mood and he doesn’t like Jor anyway, so he says, “I’ve been avoiding you like Ebola.”

And Jor just laughs at that. “Our free periods coincide, and we have about an hour before we have to be back. Coffee?”

His effort only earns him a scowl. “I don’t need you to butter me up before reading me the riot act.”

At that, Jor looks slightly confused. “What do you mean? About Kal?” At Dru’s silence Jor takes it for an affirmative. “I mean I suppose I might have asked about it eventually, but I really just wanted to catch up. We haven’t spoken in years, you know.”

“Since graduation,” Dru replies automatically, and he’s wary, because Jor and he were never exactly friends. Jor smiles, thinking that Dru is being warmer than he is.

“Exactly. Come on. My treat, and you can tell me how you ended up here.”

Dru-Zod weighs spending an hour with Jor-El and spending an hour doing actual work, and he can’t decide which one requires more masochism.

 

 

 

They end up, to Dru’s surprise, at Java on Main, and Dru can’t stop himself from grudgingly admitting that he had expected to be wined and dined in the teacher’s lounge. That earns him a hearty laugh from Jor-el and a shoulder slap that sloshes his black coffee dangerously.

“So tell me what had you under your desk there,” Jor says once they’ve settled in a corner.

Dru burns himself on his coffee and grimaces. Nothing is going his way today. “I didn’t sleep well last night,” he says evasively, and it’s not a complete lie. His nights usually consist of sitting in his living room reading until his eyes can’t focus and then downing a glass of expensive scotch to ensure a dreamless sleep before his morning workout.

Jor simply nods in understanding. “I’m a night owl myself. Makes getting up in the morning a real pain.” Jor smiles winningly at that and Dru blinks at him. Conversation had never been a talent of Dru’s, his utilitarian philosophy making no room for polite small talk. He has no idea what to say to Jor-El.

Jor doesn’t suffer from the same concerns, though he’s not completely ignorant to the slowly building tension. He tries again to engage Dru. “So, how do you keep yourself busy? I’m sure you’ve got a companion to cruise the town with.”

“No,” Dru replies flatly, and Jor looks genuinely surprised.

“Single? You? No.” He shakes his head as if the thought is too much for him. “What about Faora? You two were an item in high school. You didn’t stay in touch?”

Dru shrugs. “We did. But we haven’t dated since senior prom.”

“No?” Jor asks.

“No.” Dru looks down at the table and tries to rub out a blemish in the wood beneath the lacquer.

“I would have thought you’d be married with children by now,” Jor states, and Dru looks at him flatly.

“I’m not.” And neither of them have anything to follow that with.

The silence is uncomfortable, and Jor takes a hesitant sip of his mocha before making another attempt at getting the ball rolling. “So, teaching, huh? I can’t say I would have pegged you working with kids. Didn’t you join the military or something?”

“Navy,” Dru replies, and gulps down more scalding liquid, searching for the words to make the time pass more quickly. “I left maybe a year and a half ago. I didn’t know what to do with myself so I ended up here, and Coach Papp was retiring, so.” He shrugs and looks Jor in the eye, defiantly heading off the next question. “It’s all I’m qualified to do.”

He should have known that would only set Jor off. “I don’t think so!” he states. “I’m sure you must have gotten somewhere in the military, you were always a determined fellow. You’ve got management experience, no doubt. What about-”

“What about you?” Dru cuts in, speaking through his teeth. He doesn’t know how to make it more obvious that he will not welcome this line of questioning. “Surely you’re over-qualified to teach high school, _Dr_ El.”

Jor blinks in surprise at the abrupt change in conversation, but inbred manners force him to move along without acknowledging it. “Well, I.” He shifts in his chair to shake off the awkwardness of the conversation. “I _was_ based out of Boston, but Lara had moved back here with Kal and I, you know.” Jor seems, for a moment, to struggle with finding the right words, and Dru has a savage kind of glee that he’s managed to get across how unhappy he is with Jor’s attempt at friendliness. “I wanted to be closer to Kal. I didn’t want to miss out on seeing him grow up, on being a father.”

They lasp into another moment of silence, and Dru breaks it with another pointed question. It’s petty, he knows, but he’s in an uncharacteristically biting mood, suddenly, and it’s centered on Jor-El. “Why did Lara move back without you?”

It earns him a blink, and Jor tries to play the question off with a joke. “Ah, you know what divorce is like, things get said, pottery gets thrown.” He forces a grin. Dru chugs the rest of his coffee with a scowl.

“Can’t be happy you’ve followed her.”

At this, Jor drops the pretense of good humor almost as quickly as Dru had made his intention to be unpleasant clear. He frowns and sips his coffee pointedly. “Well, we’re all adults.”

Dru stands abruptly. “Good to hear.”

“Yes,” Jor replies, looking to the side with agitation written all over his face. Dru is already almost turned towards the door when Jor says, “I spoke with Kal about what happened yesterday.”

Dru turns back with narrow eyes. “I’m sure his narrative was completely accurate.”

It’s _the_ nerve, and Dru knows it as soon as he says it. Jor’s face goes completely blank and his eyes go as cold as Dru’s ever seen. It’s a stupid shot, because of all people Dru _knows_ how touchy people are about their kids, but his stress headache has gotten worse and his inherently foul mood has only been reinforced and he’s as ready as he’ll ever be to burn this bridge with napalm.

“Goodbye, Dru,” Jor says flatly, and Dru-Zod hunches his shoulders against the world and leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

Dru spends his night staring at the ceiling and refusing to acknowledge that he feels like crap.

The next morning he arrives at school tired enough to be dulled. It’s how he manages to walk right past Kal-El, who’s sitting in a chair outside his office. He realizes, suddenly, as he’s unlocking his door and he turns to see the boy staring up at him with determined eyes.

“Sir,” he says, and Dru stares at him through his sunglasses.

“Close,” he says, after a moment of silence, and points down the hallway to the teacher’s lounge. “Two cups full of coffee, black, and you’ll get one minute.”

Kal hesitates at that, unsure, and Dru makes it as clear as possible. “ _Go_.”

When Kal returns Dru has already settled himself behind his desk with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes. He downs one cup of coffee while Kal looks awkwardly on.

“Sit,” Dru says finally, pointing to a chair. “Speak.”

“Sir,” Kal begins, then, “Coach. I just came to say that I’m sorry for being disrespectful the other day. It was wrong and I apologize.”

Dru narrows his eyes with suspicion. “Did your father tell you to come say this?”

Kal blinks and then flushes. “N-no sir.”

Dru grunts. He doesn’t know the kid well enough to peg him as a liar.

“He did tell me that I… reacted poorly,” Kal mutters, unprompted, and Dru freezes as he brings his second cup to his lips.

“When did he say this? Last night?” he blurts out, and Kal doesn’t blush this time so much as look confused.

“Sir?”

Dru waves his hand, as if he could fan the question away. “Nothing, never mind. Apology accepted. Yes.” He sets to moving a pile of paper from one side of his immaculate desk to another. “You have earned the right to return to practice, Mr El. Provided, of course,” and at this he pins the boy with his gaze, “you have learned to take direction.”

“Yes, sir. But,” he starts, and here Dru can almost _see_ the coaching. “What should I do if I do not understand?”

The boy shows so much of his father in that moment it’s all Dru-Zod can do not to move his pile back to its original position.

“Try leading off with ‘Sir’ and see where that gets you. Now get to class.”

 

 

 

Dru ends up starting Kal on Thursday, and it’s probably not the worst decision he’s ever made.

The boy is fourteen, still growing into long legs and strong arms, and he, like the other freshman, is laughably bad at physical activity. But Dru knows what a season of training can do, and the kid has finally managed to grasp the concept of feinting so Dru won’t be cruel, just unforgiving, when he reads off the list of mistakes at the next practice. Or tonight, at post game, if they don’t manage to score another touchdown.

Dru hates his job with an all-encompassing sort of rage, but he’s never been one to do things in halves, so he throws himself into it and tacks his pride and self-worth on the front and carries on. And even though it’s only Freshman and Junior Varsity tonight, and any other high school football coach would already have half a mind on tomorrow, Dru knows he’s going to sit up tonight watching the recording and devising plays that will smooth out the trouble spots. He’s going to run these boys through their paces again and again until they’re dreaming of drills and tactics. He’s going to dodge every congratulatory slap on the back and handshake until his team is lifting the trophy at state.

And he’s going to drink to drown out the little voice that tells him it’s a pointless goal because, dammit, it’s all he’s got and he’s going to make it mean something, even if he has to drag everyone else along with him.

They manage to clinch it with a minute five on the game clock and Dru allows himself a moment of celebration along with everyone else. Faora’s freshman cheerleaders run out and start running through a victory routine, and the half-empty bleachers shout and scream and for a second it feels… really good.

 

 

 

What feels better is the visit he gets at the end of the night.

Predictably, more people show up to the Junior Varsity game. And they make a monster sound when JV wins by a comfortable three touchdowns. Both teams take a knee with their coach in the middle of the field when it’s over.

“You did good tonight,” Dru-Zod starts, “You won. But only just. I saw a lot of mistakes out there.”

“Ah, come on, Coach. Not even going to give us one night off?” one of his sophomores cajoles, and it’s met with a few nervous titters. They’re high on their victory, and it’s made them bolder than they would otherwise be. Dru cocks an eyebrow.

“Nights off aren’t going to take you to state, Conners,” and the boy hastily smothers his grin.

But Dru isn’t a complete bastard. After all, they’re still a bunch of kids. “But it’s the first game, so I’ll wait to rip you apart until tomorrow.” And he gets a lot of relieved eyes for that. “Be ready for practice, I’m going to run you ragged.”

They break up and Dru stays crouched, no real rush to go around and close up the field with people and families still trickling out. It’s a beautiful September night, and it hadn’t gotten cold enough for him to stop jogging home, his life on his back.

“Can I go to Hubert’s tomorrow night after the game? Everyone’s going.”

Jor-El’s voice answers from behind him. “You’re going to have to ask your mother. She’s got you this weekend, you know.”

Dru can hear the whine in Kal’s voice. “It’s not like you don’t live ten minutes from each other. Why do we even _have_ weekends?”

“You’re only complaining because you know she’s going to say no.”

Dru turns slightly and sees Kal ducking out from under his father’s hand. Jor is every inch the professor, with his beard and elbow-patched blazer and brown loafers. It makes Dru think about the kind of sacrifice he made to be closer to his son. Makes him think about growing up with his grandparents and what it would have been like to have a father who came to his football games.

The moment’s broken when Lara Lor-Van comes up, arms crossed. Dru, despite having zero affectionate feelings towards her, can see what had drawn Jor. She’s a tall, handsome woman, her striking features have only become more beautiful with maturity.

“I recognize that face. What did he tell you no for?”

Dru can see the furtive look Kal shoots his father. “Nothing,” he mutters.

Jor grins at his ex. “I guess all the boys go to Hubert’s Diner on Friday nights.” Lara rolls her eyes.

“Oh, God. _Hubert’s_?”

“I know, I know. I didn’t even know that place was still open. How about you, Dru?” Jor-El asks, addressing their silent watcher. “You been visiting that old grease trap since you got back?”

Dru looks down and pulls some grass out of the earth, playing with it between his fingers for a moment. “Not really, no.”

“No way, Dru prefers to kill his greasy meat himself,” Lara says, and Dru can tell she’s trying to tease. He doesn’t know why she would, they’re not anything close to friendly, but he’s in a good mood tonight, so he doesn’t even have to bite back a nasty comment.

“I’m surprised you let the boy wear polyester, Lara,” Dru replies, and the three of them know it’s a shot at her steadfast veganism.

Lara scoffs. Jor laughs. And Dru allows himself a twitch of his lips.

“Well now, as coach, what do you think? Surely a healthy, growing boy needs his burgers and fries,” Jor says, and Kal looks on hopefully. Dru doesn’t want to look soft, but he doesn’t really see what’s to be gained by stopping the boy from having some fun.

“I think if you let him go once the next thing you know he’ll be wearing his pants too low and tipping cows,” he drawls. Lara throws up her hands in a show of great frustration with the heathens that surround her.

“Jeeze! Fine! Alright!” she looks at her son. “I know when I’m beat.” And it’s almost worth having engaged them when Kal shoots him a grateful look.

It’s a bit closer to worth it when Jor winks at him.

“Come on,” Lara says, “Go get your things. No Hubert’s if you don’t go home and get your homework done _right now_." 

Kal doesn’t even complain. He gives a quick, ‘see-ya, dad,’ and scurries off to grab his backpack. Lara doesn’t follow immediately though. She spares an eye for Dru.

“How did he do, Dru?”

“You didn’t see the game?” Dru asks, honestly surprised.

“Of course I saw the game,” she replies, vaguely affronted. “You know I don’t know anything about football.”

Dru doesn’t know anything of the sort, but he nods anyway. “He’s strong, and he’s quick, but he’s directionless. It makes him sloppy.” He shrugs. “He’ll get better with practice, the potential is there.”

Lara’s looking at him like he’s grown another head. “Jesus, Dru. Don’t you know how you’re supposed to answer that question?”

Dru blinks at her, and he suddenly remembers that despite their history and mild teasing, he’s still a teacher and she’s still a mother. The reminder makes him snippy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you ask for your opinion.”

Shockingly, it’s Jor who laughs. At Lara’s look he holds his hands up in defense and gives her a placating look. “What? It’s not like he said anything _bad_.”

Lara rolls her eyes and leaves, following her son off the field. And instead of following them, Jor chuckles and turns to Dru.

“You really should learn how to tell people what they want to hear. Your life would be ten times easier.”

Dru shrugs and stands, relieving his knees. Around them the stands have emptied, and pockets of people are making their way slowly out of the complex, talking and laughing. It’s the kind of idyllic night Dru never really noticed when he was a teenager, going out to Hubert’s himself after a game. He’d always been too wrapped up in himself to see the things he would miss.

“Thanks, by the way,” Jor finally says, breaking the silence. Dru huffs and crosses him arms, scuffing a foot on the ground.

“I think the kid would have figured out a way to get her to say yes. He’s no idiot. Even _I_ have to admit that.”

Jor smiles brilliantly at him for that, so wide Dru is sure his face must hurt. “I’m going to treasure that, because I’m sure you could count on one hand the amount of compliments you’ve given out.”

Dru looks away to hide his small smile. The good mood is creeping up on him despite his best efforts. “Don’t tell anyone, OK? It’ll ruin my image.”

It earns him another laugh, and then Jor-El sobers a bit. “I meant about starting Kal tonight. He thought he was going to be benched all season.”

Dru and Jor look at each other then, and Dru is at a loss for words. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but he thinks that at age thirty-three he should have a better grasp of language.

“I’d only have been hurting myself if I hadn’t. He’s the clear choice.”

It’s as close as he’s going to get to saying what he means, and Jor, miraculously, seems to understand that.

 

 

 

Something odd starts happening after that.

Dru is used to being feared. Word spreads quickly in high school, and with the kids calling him ‘General Zod’ behind his back Dru would be lying if he said he tried to discourage it. Besides, when they were terrified he always had a clear path through the halls and fewer knocks at his office door. So the first time he hears ‘hey, Coach’, in the halls he doesn’t realize it’s directed towards him. It’s only when he hears it two or three more times that he puts two and two together. It takes him even longer to figure out who the culprit is.

Of course it’s that damnable son of El, who has some sort of misguided impression that Dru is a _nice guy_ and _friendly_ and all sorts of other positive identifiers.

It infects some of the braver members of the student body and after a few weeks he can’t leave his office without hearing, ‘hi, sir!’ and ‘how’s it hanging, Coach.’ He even gets a group of girls who giggle every time he passes, and it’s unnerving to say the least.

Faora is no help when he shows up for aid one evening.

“ _God_ it’s obnoxious. If I have to hear, ‘Isn’t Mr Zod soooooo cute,’ one more time I’m going to start telling them all your dirty little secrets.”

Dru knows it’s an empty threat. “Don’t,” he moans from his sprawl over her couch. “Then they’ll just want to ‘save me’.”

“I don’t know who I’d feel worse for,” Faora says, kicking her feet up on her coffee table.

“Me, obviously,” Dru replies, and they lasp into a comfortable silence.

It’s a few moments before he realizes that the silence is wrong. “Where’s your mom?” he asks Faora, and she looks down to play with the label on her beer.

“She’s at a hospice home stay. I needed a couple of days to myself.”

Dru can see what it takes for her to admit that, and he doesn’t give her an empty platitude. His dismissal from the Navy had been hard, but the choice had been out of his hands. Faora’s sick parents had pushed her out, but in the end she had needed to make the decision to leave. Dru thinks if the situation had been different, if it were his father or grandparents, he wouldn’t have been able to give up his career.

He admires her strength in an abstract way, but mostly he feels a dull sort of bitterness at their loss.

“Speaking of El,” Faora starts, clearing her throat, and she’s moving them along to another topic. “Jor came sniffing around about you the other day.”

Dru stiffens up at that and looks at Faora, who’s regaining some of her latent puckishness. “What do you mean, ‘sniffing around’?”

“When I was subbing on Tuesday. He came by asking how I was, how life had treated me, ‘oh, I haven’t seen you since high school,’ blah blah blah. Then he mentions how Dru-Zod is also teaching, and how he never woulda thunk it, and oh, we’re friends. Do I have any idea why Dru decided to return to little ol’ Smallville?” Faora smirks. “You’ve got an admirer.”

Dru thinks he should laugh, or at least be angry, but all he feels is a sort of seizing up happening and he manages to twist his face into a grimace. Faora ogles at him.

“What are you bothered about?”

“Well,” Dru starts, and then he shift, agitated. “I’ve got someone prying into my life. Am I supposed to be happy about that?”

“Oh relax,” Faora says, waving off his complaint. “He’s probably the worst spy ever, if his subtlety is any indication. And it’s not like he’s the first to ask. Everyone’s curious how you ended up back here.” She fixes him with one beady eye. “You haven’t exactly allayed suspicion, clamming up every time someone asks you a question about it. What I’m mostly interested in is how he knows to ask.”

Dru’s stuck then, and Faora is tenacious, so he tells her about their coffee trip and the situation with Kal. She’s gaping at him when he finishes.

“What _is it_ with you and Jor-El? You’ve got a hate-on for him and then you’re helping the brat slip his mother? You two weren’t even friends in high school.”

Dru hunches down into the couch and does what he knows best and deflects. “I want to know what you told him.” It earns him an eye-roll from Faora, who knows him too well he decides.

“I told him to jump up his own ass, duh.”

It’s true love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Un-beta'd.


	3. Chapter 3

Dru’s having a meeting with Jonathan Kent, the 4H coordinator, when the extent of Jor-El’s snooping becomes clear.

“Thanks for this, Dru. I know how much you dislike having the boys skip practice,” Jonathan says as Dru signs permission slips for half the team.

Kent is right, it grates on Dru’s nerves, but through sheer force of will he manages what could pass for a tight-lipped smile. “Not at all. Public service is far more important than winning football games.”

Jonathan gives him an odd sort of smile, but accepts the signed slips anyway. “You’ve been doing some amazing things with that team. Martha and I have been going to every game we can for the last thirty years, and I have to tell you, we’ve seen a real improvement.”

Dru looks down at his pen and fiddles with it, uncomfortable. He’s never known how to take compliments.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” Jonathan says finally. “But, oh, I meant to tell you. I ran into Jor the other day. He was asking about you.”

Dru can only blink at him. “What?”

“He said he hadn’t really had a chance to talk to you since he’d gotten back, you being so busy with the team.” Jonathan has a small, secretive grin on his face. “I only mention it because Martha always used to go on about what a great pair you two made.”

“A pair?”

He shrugs. “You two always got shuffled into the same English class, and Martha says you were like night and day, always disagreeing with each other about what the author really meant. It kind of stuck in my head; she called you Hemmingway and Fitzgerald.” He stands as if to head out. “Anyway, you two should get together. Otherwise all you’ve got are old farmers like me to keep you company.”

He’s almost out the door when Dru speaks up.

“Jonathan,” he starts, and clears his throat. “Did he ask anything about me specifically?”

Jonathan knits his eyebrows. “No, just asked why you were here, why the service didn’t work out. He’s just curious.”

Dru nods and counts backwards from twenty before he picks up the phone.

“Hey, Grandma. I was wondering if I could stop by for dinner tonight?”

 

 

 

Dru has to grit his teeth and suffer through the pleasantries before he gets what he came for.

It’s not that he doesn’t love his grandparents. They had raised him from seventh grade, after his mother left and his father dumped him on his parents’ doorstep before shipping on to some other posting. Until then, Dru had been the epitome of an Army brat and had thrived on it, but his mother hadn’t been able to handle the lifestyle. Honestly, she mostly hadn’t been able to handle Dru’s father.

The calls from her had petered out by about freshman year of high school, and his grandmother from that point on had refused to utter her name in the house. But it was a small wonder when the place was a museum, the accomplishments of his father and four uncles, all career military men, decorating the walls. In his grandparents’ eyes, Dru’s father was a saint, a man who could do no wrong.

Dru had trained himself to ignore the patch of wall near the bathroom that held his own military story, the pictures he had sent home from basic, his headshots and medals. The letter inviting him to SEAL training, framed proudly next to him in his sailor’s outfit.  Nowadays his eyes slid right past the reminder, and he didn’t even see it anymore.

It had been hard to make up an excuse as to why he wasn’t going to die in his boots like the rest of the men in the family. The truth would have killed them.

When they’re settled around the table his grandmother still can’t get over the fact that he’s there. “So nice to have you come by outside of Sunday dinners! I know how busy you are, whipping those boys into shape, but it really is wonderful to have you,” she gushes after the grace, and Dru smiles and sips his sweet tea.

“Well, I figured I could take one night off.” His grandfather twitches his bushy mustache at that.

“Boy, you couldn’t relax even _if_ someone could manage to get that stick out of your ass,” and it earns him a scandalized ‘ _Grandpa!_ ’ from the other side of the table. Dru can’t help but grin at that.

“It’s fine, Grandma, I hear worse from Faora.”

It’s the wrong person to bring up, and he knows it from the intrigued look his grandmother gives him. “How _is_ Faora? You two spend a lot of time together. I always did like her.”

Dru can only push his peas around on his plate. “She’s worried about her mother. She’s not doing too well.” Grandma Zod gives an understanding nod at that.

“Well, the only thing you can do is be there for her. I’m sure she needs the support now more than ever.” Dru’s silent at that, so she continues, slyly. “You know, I know you’d never admit it, but I think she’s the reason you never did end up meeting a nice girl when you were in the Navy.”

Dru’s grandfather groans at her at this, but she continues undeterred. “I’m serious! She broke his heart when he was in high school and he never did get over it. It’s God that’s brought them back together here!” Dru and his grandfather roll their eyes at that, but his grandmother either doesn’t see or doesn’t care. “You don’t believe me, but when they’re planning their wedding I won’t say I told you so.”

“Speaking of high school _friends_ ,” Dru says, seeing his opening and derailing his grandmother in one fell swoop. “Did you know Jor-El is back in town?”

His grandmother laughs. “Did I know… Of course I knew! It was only a matter of time before he did, what with Lara stealing that poor boy away from his father…”

“She didn’t ‘steal him away’, Alice, they got a divorce.” Grandpa Zod leans forward conspiratorially at that. “It’s what all the kids are doing nowadays.” Dru’s grandmother gives him a dirty look.

“Yes, I’m very well aware that _some people_ seem to think that’s an acceptable way to comport themselves. I can see the result of that sort of behavior for myself! Not,” she adds hastily, patting Dru’s hand, “that you’re any worse for the wear for it, but you had us and your father. Not everyone is so lucky! And what was she doing divorcing Jor anyway? He’s a _doctor_ , for goodness sakes!”

“Now, Alice, we don’t know what happened. I heard he cheated on her with some lab assistant.”

Grandma Zod replies to that with disbelief and Dru tunes out for a bit. He thinks, briefly, about telling her that Lara and Jor seem to get along perfectly fine, but he doesn’t think he could take her bluster about it. This, he knows, is the reason he avoids their table, despite his love and gratitude. His grandparents are good people, but stuck in a past that holds no meaning for Dru. There are things they would never understand, or accept.

He tunes in just in time to hear his grandmother move the conversation along. “I won’t hear a bad word about him! He came by the other day and he was a perfect gentleman!”

“He came by?” Dru prompts, careful to keep his voice neutral.

She nods eagerly. “Oh yes! He stopped by to say hi, but I really think he was hoping to run into you! We talked about his work; did you know he was studying wormholes back in Boston? I told him I could show him some wormholes out in the backyard if he needed more to look at!”

She laughs at that and Dru gives her a tight smile. “What makes you think he was looking for me?”

“Oh, well, he asked about you! He said it was hard to pin you down, you were so busy. I told him not to take it personally, we hardly ever see you ourselves!” He gets a wink for that, but it barely registers. “I showed him your pictures from the Navy, and he was very complimentary. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘Dru looks so happy! Why did he ever leave?’ Of course I explained to him about the cartilage in your knees. Luck of the draw.” She sighs at that and picks at her potatoes.

The rest of the dinner passes, somehow, but Dru doesn’t notice. He sits instead, feeling as if someone cracked an egg over his head, and the cold feeling spreads until it settles deep inside.

 

 

 

Dru keeps himself in check until the end of the week, but when Saturday night rolls around he knows that sitting on Faora’s couch and feeling bad for himself isn’t going to cut it this time.

He decides to do what he does every time it gets to be too much and he drives the two hours into Wichita. There, no one knows his name. Nobody knows he’s the coach of the Smallville Crows, or that he used to date Faora-Ul or that he left military under mysterious circumstances. In Wichita, Dru is blessedly anonymous.

He holes himself up in Side-Street and opens a tab, and then he proceeds to drink until the pain in his head turns into a dull throb. It’s about the time that he’s trying to decide if he’s willing to sleep in a cheap motel bed for the night when he gets a sharp tap on the shoulder. Dru rolls his eyes, puts on his best ‘go die’ expression and turns to tell whoever it is that he’s _really not interested_.

Jor-El is standing there awkwardly, two beers in his hands and an unsure smile on his face. Dru can only be thankful for the pretense of a drink when he swallows hard and then looks around with wide eyes, wondering if he came to the right place after all.

“Hi,” Jor starts, and Dru fixes on him again. “Fancy meeting you here!”

Dru nods vaguely.

“I have an old college buddy in from out of town, I figured I’d take him on a wild night through Wichita!” Jor explains, throwing a little body movement into his words, and Dru can’t figure out if he’s being ironic or not as a low whine starts up in his head. He has sobered up so quickly it’s criminal.

“Would you like to join us?” Jor tries finally, and Dru can’t quite believe Jor is standing there talking to him like they’re not in an honest-to-God _gay bar_ in the middle of Kansas.

“No,” he says, flatly, and the tentative smile on Jor’s face slips. He nods and tries to play it off.

“No, I gotcha, no worries. We’re right over there if you change your mind, but anyway. Have a good night!”

Jor is turning to head back to the lone man sitting at a table at the edge of the room, when Dru can’t contain himself any longer.

“You _do_ know what kind of bar this is, don’t you?” he blurts out, and Jor looks back at him with a sort of faint blush.

“Yea, I do.”

Dru proceeds to spend the rest of his evening getting thoroughly blazed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter than the others, but this seemed like a good stopping point. More to come!

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't really warrant being a multi-chapter thing, but I'm already working on a beast right now and I'm hungry for feedback. Warnings, descriptions, and characters will be updated as the damn thing is written. Never fear! I'm trying to get this done quickly so I can return to my other project.
> 
> Any mistakes or inaccuracies are my own. If you see any glaring errors please let me know. Un-beta'd.


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